Never The Victim
by SrFlour38
Summary: A frosty walk to the shops turns nasty for Hathaway and he shuts everyone out. As usual. Robbie can smell James' lies a mile away and is intent on sorting it out once and for all. Watch out all ye muggers. The uncover uniformed lot, will sort you out... Which should stop Hathaway from being so skittish, right?
1. Chapter 1

Never the Victim

Chapter 1

The night was hand-numbingly cold as James stepped out of his warm block of flats. He shoved his thin hands deep into the pockets of his coat and then took them out again to pull the collar further up his neck. He set off briskly and his footsteps echoed in the silence of the night. There were only a few things which would motivate him to take a late-night stroll at sub-zero temperatures and unfortunately running out of cigarettes was one of them.

The CO-OP on the next street better have a good selection. His ears felt like blocks of ice at the side of his head. Why was it so damn cold?

Screaming. A woman was screaming. Alarm bells rang loudly in his head.

James stopped walking and looked around desperately in the dark. Nearby streetlamps cast a yellowed light onto the footpath and road, but he couldn't see a distressed woman. He spun again on the spot and registered that the noise was coming from a side-alley. Shadowed and only about eight-foot wide, James chargeD into it yelling "Hang on! I'm coming to help!"

He entered to alley and instantly could see nothing as any light from the streetlamp was lost. The screaming stopped and when he was grabbed from behind, he knew he'd been had. Somebody's nails were digging into his scalp as they pulled his head backwards and he could feel someone was knelt painfully on the back of his legs, forcing him onto his knees.

They pulled his head further backwards until his neck protested. He still couldn't see a thing, but he could smell beery breath close to his face and state cigarette smoke, which wasn't his own. Inside, he was trembling. Somebody yanked his head even further backwards.

He howled. "You're making a mistake." He said loudly, addressing his attackers.

Somebody was riffling through his pockets. The feel of someone pawing through his clothes would have been horribly intimate, but he was more concerned about how much further his neck would bend before it snapped.

His warrant-card was in his secret internal pocket. As was his mobile phone. He doubted that these baboons would find either.

They pulled the ten pound note, which he'd brought to buy cigarettes, out of his pocket. A man's voice grumbled something about him having no wallet. No mobile phone.

Great, now they were angry…

They threw him on the ground and their riffling hands turned to fists. Their feet kicked him in the gut, in the face, in the side. The feel of helplessness and the force of the blows. The coldness. Gravel pressed into his face and there dust in his eyes. Hot blood rushed from his nose as one of them hit it. The smell of blood and gravel and pain were familiar, but he didn't remember that. He felt another foot come into contact with the mobile in the upper pocket and it shattered there.

James refused to make a sound. He was only a victim if he let them make him one. He would not cry out. He would not beg for mercy.

Amusement over, they left, ten pounds richer. There was pain. The battered nose stung and the suspicious metallic taste of blood in his mouth was making him nauseous. He ran his tongue over his lips slowly. The split lip could have caused it. His hands ghosted over his face, which felt battered and was damp with blood. His eye seemed to be swelling.

His neck was sore. His sides ached from the blows. He suspected he'd damaged his wrist.

He picked himself up and then proceeded to throw up over himself. Acid replaced the taste of blood and stung at the back of his throat. Just when he thought he could fall no lower.

James limped home, and only when he got there did he take the fragments of his smart phone out of his pocket. He tidied himself up and sat a cold flannel on his battered face. His nose was swelling. His cheeks were swelling. His left eye began to swell more into a black eye. He forced it open with the same brutal effectiveness he used on the guilty, to remove the contact-lens.

The following morning, he rang in sick. A sense of shame consumed him when he saw his battered face, purple. He'd claimed to have a stomach virus, but Robbie hadn't exactly sounded convinced. James couldn't bring himself to care.

He wasn't going to reveal his bruised face to the world.

There was no way he was going to be the victim (again).


	2. Chapter 2

Never the Victim

Chapter 2

For the most-part, Robbie Lewis prided himself on his ability to smell falsehoods. Perhaps not on suspects, because he didn't know them well enough to watch for the tell-tale hints that someone wasn't being straight with him.

His sergeant, he did know. He knew that when trying to get away with something, James would use small words- state the lie and move on. There would be no artistic Shakespearian quotes or Burns references, because he was just trying to stop fibbing and move on. The smart-arse tone also failed him when he lied, because Robbie guessed that inside he was berating himself for what he was doing.

"Sir, I can't come in today- I've got stomach flu." A highly suspicious statement, if Robbie ever heard one. Where were the craftily imbedded Tennyson quotes? Or, more to the point, where was the sarcasm? But, Robbie also knew that if he pushed the issue then James would clam up and then they'd be nowhere. He muttered something dad-like about avoiding dehydration and rang off, planning.

Planning. After work that evening he drove around to James' flat. He parked his car around the corner and walked on the side of the street which was directly under James' window. There was nothing to tip him off and he tailgated his way into the building behind an elderly couple. He knocked on James' door.

The door opened.

Oh God.

Oh crikey. The bruising. His entire blooding face was blue and purple like a wall somebody started painting one colour and continued with another. What had he done? James was stood there like a statue, ignoring that Robbie was gawking at him.

"Would you like to come in, sir?" He asked stonily and indistinctly, because his lips were swollen, James stepped backwards to let Robbie in.

They sat down on the sofa and it was a few minutes before Robbie could bring himself to say anything other than 'Oh God' and 'What the hell?' He'd thought James was hiding… alright, he hadn't know what James was hiding. Finally, Robbie pulled himself together.

"James, man, you don't need to let people get away with doing this to you." He appealed, sincerely. "I'll do my best to bring them to justice, you just need to help me, here."

James turned to face him for the first time. The right side of his face had ballooned more than the other and it hardly moved when he spoke. "What if I didn't want you involved, sir?"

Robbie thought carefully. "Mate, your workday is set around bringing others justice. Why would you deny yourself some? Maybe, I understand if you don't want your guv looking into it, would you consider letting a PC find them?"

James stared at him emotionlessly. Or he stared through the one eye which wasn't swollen shut. Robbie could tell it would have been a killer glare, "I was mugged in a dark alleyway. I didn't see anything."

"They've silenced you?" Robbie asked, panicked.

"No, sir." James stressed. "They pinned me down from behind. The streetlamp in the alley had died. It was too dark."

It still sounded like lies to Robbie. But then again, the lad had clearly taken a beating, so maybe he just wasn't feeling as arty as usual. The issue was Robbie just didn't know. Trusting James about his wellbeing was sometimes like trusting a squirrel on how many nuts it had (just before it ate another one), or a magician with their cards.

The wellbeing of others was safer ground.

"Do you think anyone else was hurt?" He asked.

"I think the muggers might have bruised knuckles." James said sarcastically.

"No, you daft lad. I meant, any other victims?"

James froze. His ears, which were the only unbruised part of his face, turned red. He refused to look at Robbie. Robbie, sensing that he'd just somehow stumbled onto a minefield, carried on "Have you been to hospital to get it all checked out? You've got a bandage on your wrist."

"It's all fine, sir."

"Who said that, you or a trained doctor?" Robbie pushed.

"Sir, I'd really like you to leave now, I'm feeling rather tired." James said, out of the blue. He stood out and led Robbie to the door. Robbie left, with a sinking feeling in his gut. He would find out what happened, if it was the last thing he did.

His friend needed justice.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The previous two chapters have been improved and rephrased, but the plotline remains the same throughout them.**

 **This chapter contains discussion into one side of Christianity's beliefs about homosexuality, following on from the episode** _ **Life Born of Fire**_ **. The biblical references within the chapter are really from the Bible and in some cases are Christian teachings about homosexuality. However, there is another side to Christianity's views, Quakers (the Religious Society of Friends) fully accept homosexual couples in their meetings and try and support them. Many churches now accept that people may have homosexual feelings, but fewer are willing to accept the idea of homosexual acts. Some denominations will bless same sex civil partnerships, but only a few. Change is happening and some churches are become more open, but in many cases, it is unfortunately a slow process.**

 **The opinions expressed within the chapter were Hathaway's, not mine.**

Never the Victim

Chapter 3

It was the second night in a row that some of the worst decisions in his life had invaded his dreams. Would the torture never end? James was sweating and gasping, just at the memory. The sheets were wrapped tightly around his legs and he struggled to free himself of them.

 _Will's face was swollen with bruising. Both of his eyes were blackened and his lip cut. Pain was etched across his kind face like engraved writing. James could see himself, stood in front of his battered friend. And his lips were moving, slowly, as poison-filled words and unsympathetic advice spilled out._

" _These people are trying to help you… to show you, Will. God sent them to tell you, you need to go back to the Garden soon. It's the only way that you can be as he loves you. Remember, just for a minute, in Genesis about the sin of Onan."_

 _He wouldn't look at James. His head was bent to look at the floor where his blood still dripped._

" _God is punishing you. He loves you, but he needs you to be different." James continued. "What about Leviticus 18:22? You can't ignore it, Will. "Do not lie with a man as you would with a woman, for it is despicable." He pushed on._

" _Please." Will appealed to him, his kind, tired eyes appealing to James'. "This can't be wrong. I'm in love, can love truly be wrong?" Before James could formulate a reply, his head went down again and the eye contact was lost._

 _James forced himself to stare right through him. "Homosexual acts are a sin." He stated clearly. "You need to go back to the Garden so that you can live without that sin."_

" _We all sin…" Protested Will weakly. "Besides, isn't God meant to be all-loving?"_

 _Deadpan, James returned "He loves you, Will. He just hates that you sin, especially when he's offering you the chance to change."_

" _No…" Will muttered, his head down again. It was easier that way for James. Although he felt sure he was doing the right thing, he thought that God's message was a brutal one. The sight Will's gentle face black and blue made him feel ill. Still, if it served its purpose then it was the right thing to have happened, he believed._

" _Yes." James responded, pulling out his final ace. "If you go back to the Garden then you might yet go to Heaven. If you leave, it'll be heading directly the other way. It's your decision, because men who commit indecent acts with other men will be punished for their perversion."_

James rolled over and squashed his battered face into the pillow as the tears trickled like a salt-water springs down the mountain of his face. He could still hear his words ringing in his ears. Instinct made him want to run and apologise, at that minute. But, he'd have to run an awful long way to reach where Will now dwelled.

He'd never believed in exceptions before, but he hoped that his friend, Will would be where he belonged now, by God's side rather than condemned to hellfire for all of eternity. That particular place down south had a door somewhere with his name on it. And Will carried practically every virtue Jesus had ever praised, so surely, surely if God could see all, he could see that.

A week after Will had gone back to the Garden, a gang had mugged him on his way to the launderette. Although he'd never had any proof, he'd always thought that maybe Will had had something to do with it, revenge for convincing him to go back to a place which might, just might be sucking his soul out to make him good enough for God. Or, that was his interpretation on reflection, after he'd left the church and he realised just how blinded he'd been. His interpretation at the time was that maybe Will had wanted him to feel what he'd felt, after a group of homophobic thugs had paid him such close attention.

Anyway, at the time, the thugs which had beaten up Will, were never found, despite a short investigation. He'd never bothered to report the attack on him due to the nasty, guilty, gut-churning feeling that he'd somehow wronged Will. That things were not right. It was his fault anyway.

Maybe, he didn't deserve justice if he couldn't even feel confident in his own decisions. That had been then. Now he felt that Will had been right all along,


	4. Chapter 4

Never the Victim

Chapter 4

It was like getting blood out of a stone, Robbie knew, getting James to spill anything remotely private. Even things he really needed to know like; where did you get beaten up? Still, Morse had been a difficult man too, and Robbie had developed a variety of tactics in the past.

Making the man riled enough to throw the information they'd kept secret in his face was effective, but Robbie avoided it unless it was a life and death situation. The process of elimination went further than one would think possible. He inconspicuously checked James' car for damage or bloodstains inside and found neither, which led him to believe that it had happened within walking distance of James' flat. Then he got a map of the area around James' flat and plotted places within walking distance (although he knew this wouldn't work if James had visited a friend). There was a Starbucks, a dry cleaners and a Cooperative nearby, luckily James lived in a mainly residential area.

Now, James had said that he'd been beaten in the evening, because he couldn't see his attackers, so Robbie ruled out the dry cleaners. They didn't open late enough for him to be visiting them. Next, around the areas of Starbucks and the Cooperative, Robbie checked for similar crimes reported and found that there'd been two reports of aggravated assault and mugging between James' flat and the Cooperative.

Which was enough for him to put undercover officers around the area.

Meanwhile, James returned to work, paler than usual and slightly skittish. Robbie wanted to ask if there was anything he could do, or if he'd ever been mugged before, but he knew that it was as likely that his sergeant would announce that he'd started taking tap-dancing lessons, as he would give him a straight answer.

Why could he never get a straight answer?

The following day, the uniformed lot (or ununiformed lot, as the case was) had caught a group of two men and a woman mugging people down a darkened alley. Robbie got the pleasure of announcing to James that they'd been caught and watching a flash of relief flit over his face, before his poker face took over again.

It was, he decided a success.

*.*.*.*.

Although he'd rather pull his teeth out than admit it, James was glad that the band of muggers had been taken into custody. The bruises had blossomed into several nasty dreams. Either he was watching himself blindly condemn Will to living a life, which ultimately lead to his suicide, or there was the one where he was pinned down and beaten until he bled out. And sometimes, he was out of his body and watching his assailants, cheering them on. The final dream, the night before Robbie had announced they'd been caught, he'd joined them beating him. He'd began to sleep with a chair back wedged under his door handle.

And, yes, he was conscious that dreams of that nature probably were a bad sign, indicating that his mental health was not quite as it should be. He couldn't bring himself to analyse them, for fear of what he might find out.

He found himself constantly on edge. This led to him going to confession three times that week and spilling his guts in the privacy of the confessional. And, yes, he was forgiven every time, so there no logical reason why he should be dreaming of punishing himself. None.

Except his guilty conscience.

But, when the dreams stopped, he knew he was going to have to thank Robbie properly. Properly, so that Robbie knew he meant it.

The following day, he asked Robbie if he wanted to get a pint. He bought the pints, obviously and, before they started drinking said, as sincerely as he could "Thank you, sir. It was just…"

"Shouldn't have happened, Jim." Robbie had replied. "I'm just glad they're in the nick now, nasty scam they were running. It's almost to your credit that you were the… fell for it."

Robbie watched James break eye-contact and look away. His's gut feeling was that he'd just missed out on something, but again, he had no idea what.


End file.
